


Slowly burning away

by tonamilahyene



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Classical Music, Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Dress-Wearing Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonamilahyene/pseuds/tonamilahyene
Summary: They go to the cinema to watch Portrait of a lady on fire together and Crowley falls in love with the character's green dress.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Slowly burning away

She was there, slowly burning away. The dress.

The woman inside the dress, ephemeral, was like a mirage one sees after days of walking in a desert. She was captivating. Not only because of her beauty, but chiefly because she was necessary. Required.

Aziraphale looked away from the poster and started walking again, still in a hurry to get back to his beloved bookshop. The raw wind forced him to tighten the grip on his hat, preventing it from flying away. He grimaced, wishing that spring would come quicker. Spring was his favourite season of the year.

In his mind, the burning lady was still living. Or dying. Either way, she was still vividly present. He wanted to know more about her story. But he never went to the cinema. It’s not that he didn’t like it, but he just didn’t feel the need to. This time, however, it was different. He had a reason to go. He had Crowley. Crowley liked going to the cinema, and Aziraphale liked pleasing Crowley. He just had to give him a call, and invite him to go see… Wait, what was the title of the film again?

Portrait of a Lady on Fire?

Oh, no, he didn’t remember. He had to go out again, in the cold, rough wind, all the way back to the cinema.

*

“Portrait of a Lady on Fire? Why?” asked Crowley, surprised that Aziraphale would ever call him to invite him to the cinema. 

“The poster looked exceedingly beautiful, that’s why.” explained Aziraphale, “So, would you like to come?”

“With pleasure. But what’s it about? Women being burnt? Wait… is it about witches? Ugh…” tried Crowley, already annoyed by the idea of a film about witches.

Aziraphale sighed. “Please, Crowley, don’t be such a pain. I don’t know what it is about, but I can verify if any witches are involved, if you want.” said he, crossing his fingers in hopes that it would be 100% witches-free.

“Nah, don’t bother, angel,” answered Crowley in a soft apologetic voice. “Sorry, I’m a bit tense these days. That’s why going to the cinema with you sounds like a great idea.”

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, worried. He knew that Gabriel was being a complete moron, as always, but hoped it wasn’t the cause of Crowley’s bad mood.

“Err… I miss spending time with you. It’s been a few weeks, already,” Crowley said, blushing and moving his feet nervously. He wasn’t comfortable - at all - with showing affection. He tried, though, knowing that it wouldn’t belittle him in Aziraphale’s heart. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Oh, dearest. We’ve both been quite busy lately. I, with the bookshop, and you, with whatever you’re doing with those plants of yours.” He paused, hoping that Crowley would finally reveal what was up between him and his plants, but kept on talking when the line stayed silent. “Are you free tomorrow evening? For the cinema, I mean.”

“Yup. Let’s go see some witches burn together!” he said with a laugh.

“No, Crow-”

But the line went dead, and he found himself talking into the void.

*

His smile was restrained. Even in this dark room, he felt the need to be discreet. Almost modest. But Aziraphale savoured the sight of him. His lips timidly turned into a smile, eyes sparkling at the sight of that dress.

The green dress. Long and heavy but with an undeniable softness. Crowley would never admit it, but he adored that dress. Aziraphale could see it in his eyes, and in the way his hand squeezed his own ever so slightly whenever it appeared on the screen.

The angel always knew that his demon had a strong affinity for eighteenth century clothing, and that this obsession had been secretly going on for over 250 years. He would never say it out loud, because his stupid sense of pride never let him, but Aziraphale knew.

He came back to his senses when he heard the music.

_Il cimento dell’armonia e dell’inventione, Vivaldi._

He teared up. Not because of the music, surprisingly, but because of the scene itself. The two characters were simply enjoying every second of their time together. As if nothing else existed except the two of them, seated in front of this organ, forever. He realised that Crowley looked at him the exact same way Héloïse looked at Marianne - with unmeetable tenderness. He wiped the tears from his eyes and took Crowley’s hand in his before kissing each of his fingers with utmost softness.

“Are you alright, angel?” asked Crowley, worried after seeing Aziraphale’s tear-streaked cheeks.

“Yes, dear, very much so.” he whispered.

*

As they were comfortably lying in their bed, Crowley’s hand caressed the back of Aziraphale’s neck, occasionally brushing against his ear, making his heart flutter. His smell, invading Aziraphale’s entire being while he fought not to sleep. Aziraphale so loved this moment that he wouldn’t miss a second of it for the world.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” he asked, curiously.

“Are there any other valid answers besides the film?” replied Crowley, looking at the ceiling, only half present.

Aziraphale didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. There was nothing to say that wasn’t already felt. In the air. In their chests. Risking a move, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley only to see a tear in his eye. He gently wiped it with his thumb and kissed Crowley’s belly with a smile. Letting his head rest on his chest again, he listened to his heart. Aziraphale focused on the rhythm and fell asleep.

He woke up almost eight hours later, feeling calm. Looking up again, he saw Crowley’s relaxed face, still asleep. He carefully got up, trying his best not to wake his demon up. Walking towards the kitchen of Crowley’s flat, he smiled. He’d always wondered why there was a kitchen here. Was it because he wanted his flat to make sense, or because he knew that Aziraphale would come here sometimes? The angel caught himself fantasizing about eating cake with Crowley, but rapidly remembered that eating cake _in front of_ Crowley was much more fun. The way he looked at him was infinitely sweeter than any cake he’s had.

Head still in the clouds, he opened the fridge, only to see that it was empty. “Ugh!” Not surprising, though. He tried the cupboard, already resigned. Nothing.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat and hat before leaving the flat. One can’t go on with one’s day without having breakfast, right?

Hurrying through the streets, he was thankful for the weather. No wind. Aziraphale entered a bakery with a smile and bought two croissants. He said goodbye and left with the same smile.

Deciding to take a detour on his way back, Aziraphale walked past an antique shop. He looked at the shop window, like he always did when it came to antique shops and bookshops.

And there it was. A 1954 Singer sewing machine. A black one with gold patterns on it.

Aziraphale stopped and crossed the street to have a better look at it. Gorgeous, he thought, _what a little beauty!_ Within the next second he was inside the shop, removing his hat from his head.

And he knew why he needed it now. It made perfect sense. Aziraphale believed in miracles. Obviously. But this one wasn’t of his own doing.

“Hello, is there anybody here?” he asked, looking for anything even remotely human in the middle of these old gramophones and rocking horses.

“Err... Hello?” said a little voice, coming from under an old coffee table.

“I saw that sewing machine in the window… I was wondering if it was for sale?” tried Aziraphale, unsure about how to act.

“Yes, yes, I see. I’ll be with you in a minute, pardon me,” replied the voice.

“Can I help you?” inquired Aziraphale, walking closer to the voice.

“To be completely honest, I’m stuck…” answered the voice, embarrassed.

Aziraphale got closer and discovered the scene. He tried not to laugh. He lifted the coffee table that was weighing on the poor woman, and they both sighed in relief when she got up.

“Thank you, err… That’s a bit awkward, but I was repairing it, when it kind of collapsed on me… Anyway… What were you saying?” said she, nervously scratching the back of her head.

Aziraphale smiled at her, which seemed enough to make her at ease again. He answered, “I am interested in the Singer sewing machine you’re… selling?” he said, hesitant.

“Oh, yes, dear. It is beautiful, isn’t it?” she looked at Aziraphale, waiting for an answer. When he nodded, she continued, “It doesn't work anymore, I’m afraid… But if you’re still interested, I can give it to you for free, to thank you for your help… hum… earlier…” she offered, with a shy smile.

Aziraphale knew that making it work wasn’t going to be a problem, and accepted, “Well, thank you very much. That’s extremely kind of you.”

She gave him a kind look, before handing the sewing machine to Aziraphale, who took it eagerly.

“Thank you again” said he, leaving the shop with a huge smile on his face.

Going back to Crowley’s flat and seeing him seated in his throne was a most exquisite sight. Luckily enough, he reminded himself that he had a sewing machine in his hands, and made it disappear in the blink of an eye before Crowley could notice it. He had an idea for a surprise, after all, and it would be a shame to let it be spoiled.

“Where were you?” asked Crowley with a hint of hurt in his voice that he tried not to show. But he was bad at hiding his feelings from Aziraphale.

“I went out to get us something to eat. Your fridge and cupboard are both empty!” protested the angel.

“Ngk. Point taken.” said Crowley, unable to come up with a proper response.

“Fancy some croissants?” asked Aziraphale with a playful smile.

Crowley gave him a side look and a quirky smile. Aziraphale took it as a ‘yes’. He was right. He handed one of the croissants to Crowley, and enjoyed the sight of his legs in those tight jeans. He didn’t notice that Crowley got dressed, and he didn’t mind one bit, for those jeans made him feel _things_.

“What did you think about the dresses?” tried Aziraphale, hoping that it would help him think about something more appropriate.

“What the hell are you talking about, angel?” Crowley stopped eating his deliciously soft croissant to look up at Aziraphale. He was taken aback when he saw the latter leaning against the wall in a very nonchalant way. It was _his_ thing, not Aziraphale’s. He liked the sight, though.

“The film. I’m talking about the film. What did you think about the dresses?” repeated Aziraphale, laughing lightly.

“Magnificent. The clothes looked absolutely wonderful on both Héloïse and Marianne, didn’t you think?” he declared, waiting for his angel’s opinion.

“I thought them perfect in every way.” replied Aziraphale, licking his fingers to enjoy the taste of butter left by the croissants.

*

With a snap of his fingers, the sewing machine was working again. What a delight it was to see this vintage beauty at work. He admired it for a couple of minutes before coming back to his senses.

It’s that dress. It’s been on his mind ever since they got back from the cinema last Tuesday. He had had an idea: he was going to make a similar dress for Crowley. After days of hesitation, he came to the conclusion that he had to do it. He also decided that he would use black fabric for the green parts, and red fabric for the white parts. That way, it would match Crowley’s aesthetic perfectly.

The angel made the decision to start working today. He shouldn’t waste any time, for he was so impatient to see Crowley’s reaction. And, if he was completely honest, to see Crowley wearing the dress. What a scrumptious thought. He felt his cheeks get warmer and his belly start to tingle.

He rapidly chased these thoughts from his mind. _I don’t have time for this right now!_

He started by drawing what he remembered of the dress. The very low collar, the corset, the sleeves, the skirts. He remembered it pretty well, and it boosted his confidence. A few minutes were enough for him to finish his drawing. He reached for the black fabric that he acquired the day before and started creating.

*

“Crowley, dear, come here.”

“What is it, angel?” he answered as he entered the room in which Aziraphale was waiting for him.

Sat on the bed, the angel looked at his demon with one of those _I-know-something-you-don’t-know_ smiles on his face.

Unsure, Crowley walked closer to Aziraphale and added, “So?”

“Close your eyes, please.”

“What’s this all about?”

“Do you trust me, Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered near the demon’s ear.

“Y- yes…” answered Crowley, curious.

“I see you shiver with antici-... pation.” joked Aziraphale, making Crowley laugh.

He finally got the dress and was excited to show his 2 months of work to Crowley.

“Here, you can open your eyes again.” he said, trying to seem confident when he was, in fact, a big ball of stress.

“Wh- wait… what?” Crowley stuttered, before turning completely red.

“It’s a gift, from me to you. I made it, based on that green dress you loved so dearly. The one from the film.” said Aziraphale, looking down shyly.

“How did you know?”

“Oh, come on, Crowley. Of course I knew. You can’t hide anything from me, you know.” he said with a wink that made his demon blush even more.

“I- don’t know what to say. Can I… try it?” asked Crowley.

“Please do!” urged Aziraphale.

So he did. He left the room and went to the bathroom, feeling a bit shy. He also needed some time alone to calm down and stop blushing like a teenage boy. The dress fit perfectly, and he felt overwhelmed at the beauty of the fabric. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and gasped. _I look gorgeous_. And he sure did.

“Are you alright, dear?” asked Aziraphale, knocking at the bathroom door, “You’ve been in here for quite some time now. Is it the wrong size?”

“Angel… it’s perfect.” he said, almost whispering. He went to the door to open it, and let Aziraphale enter.

He looked like a princess. A demonic princess, obviously. The long dress reached the floor near his feet, and was just the right size. His hair, almost touching his shoulders, was the exact same colours as the red fabric around his chest and wrists. Aziraphale felt like he was drowning, but in a good way. He wanted to hold Crowley, and kiss him tenderly. But he didn’t. He was unable to think straight, that’s why. After a few minutes of wide-eyed silence, he exclaimed:

“Oh my- you look divine. You really do. I am speechless.”

As Crowley wasn’t able to do anything but blush, Aziraphale led him out of the bathroom. There, he snapped his fingers and music started playing.

_Menuet No.5 Op.11, Luigi Boccherini._

“Would you care to dance, my dear?” proposed Aziraphale, offering his hand to Crowley, who took it eagerly.

They danced throughout the whole song, and even after the song ended. It seemed like they danced forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MrsCaulfield for helping me (as a beta), once again.


End file.
